


nail biter

by MasterFinland



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Asthma, Bed-Wetting, Canon-Typical themes, Dissociation, Fevers, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Maternal Instinct, Nightmares, No Slash, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Paternal Instinct, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Sick Fic, Sickness, Trauma, Vomit, ciel is a child, its rough, parental Sebastian, parental mey-rin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24227176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterFinland/pseuds/MasterFinland
Summary: Children should not look like that, Mey-Rin thinks, horribly angry and irrevocably furious with things beyond her control. Children should never look so afraid of being alive. They should feel safe, and loved, and Mey-Rin, despite their difference in social status, wishes with so much urgent desperation that she could wrap the young master, half out of his mind with fever, up into softest, most comfortable things, and hold him there, tight and protected in her arms, until all the evil has gone away, and all the bad thoughts simply stop existing.
Relationships: Mey-Rin & Ciel Phantomhive, Sebastian Michaelis & Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 20
Kudos: 194





	nail biter

**Author's Note:**

> it really do be loving your parents hours tonight huh lads
> 
> (just an fyi there is a mention of the fact that ciel is a teenager, and even traumatizing rape dreams can make the body react in ways that betray the mind)

Sebastian is, for once, reading for leisure rather than necessity, when he hears it, distant and from the entire other end of the manor. It sounds almost like sobbing, but it’s all garbled and wrong, like someone is drowning. It reminds him of the weeks after he first took the contract, and the little earl would wake up, gasping, choking on things no longer there every night for months, and Sebastian would have to make him warm milk, with honey, and clean his bedsheets, and promise not to tell Tanaka about it, standing at the door until big, haunted eyes had shut and the pitiful breath of a child, barely alive, evened out.

Ciel hasn’t had a nightmare like this in months. 

He sighs and marks his page, rising with a surprising physical exhaustion in his bones. He’s been sitting for too long, and even a demon’s mortal body comes with the occasional aches and pains. He is becoming too soft, he thinks as he sits his novel in his seat, hearing how it bounces slightly but not seeing it, already grabbing the candelabra and heading for the stairs. 

His quarters are not far, even closer than those of the other servants, but it feels like he’s miles away; the sounds are getting worse, and he just can’t seem to get there fast enough. Ciel has driven himself into another attack, it would seem, meaning a fever won’t be far behind. He’ll be burning hot within the next hour.

Sebastian checks his pocket watch, clicking it shut with an irritated noise. It’s later than the nightmares usually come, already nearing four, and as he stands before his young master’s door, he hesitates. He is not wanted, that much is clear to Sebastian, the mark on his hand tingling angrily, but he is needed, so he goes inside anyway. 

Ciel is, as expected, curled up in the center of his bed, trembling so violently that Sebastian can see it, even with the duvet wrapped around him. There is vomit on the floor, and some on the bed, and the air smells sickly, full of panic and desperation and  _ fear. _

Sebastian rarely smells fear from him, anymore. 

He sighs, softly, somehow both fond and exasperated all at once, and places the candles on the desk closest to the door. The mound of blankets stills, almost comically so, but the breathing stays wet and wheezy, and Sebastian frowns. It’s an awful sound, fluid rattling around the lungs of a child.

“Young Master?” He calls, quiet and hesitant. Ciel is rarely afraid, let alone of  _ him _ , even after these types of dreams. Sebastian knows what the dreams are about, when Ciel gets like this.

_ (Hands, hands, teeth, mouth, mouth, bad, teeth, teeth, teeth, hands, stop it stop it stop it-) _

Ciel lets out a stuttered sob, and the smell of urine becomes much stronger. He’s saying something, but it’s so jumbled and incomprehensible that Sebastian doesn’t understand what it means. Sebastian, again, hesitates. His frown deepens.

_ (Bad, bad, bad, hurts, no, too loud, hurts, too big, too much, no, no, please, I don’t like it, no, please-) _

Sebastian touches the top of the blankets, gentle and feather-light, and Ciel positively  _ shrieks, _ loud and unrestrained, scrambling to get away so desperately that he falls off the bed before Sebastian can catch him. He hits the ground hard, trapped and thrashing in his covers. Sebastian breathes out. 

“Young Master, please allow me to help you from the blankets,” he says, crouching down before the mass of duvet and sniveling child. He will deal with the sick and piss once he has calmed the earl down.

When Sebastian lifts the layers of blankets from his earl, the boy is crying even harder, somehow, and his eyes, large and wide and frightened, like they were those first few months, hold no recognition within them. Sebastian feels very much like he’s tending a wild animal, one far too wounded and afraid to fight him. Ciel is completely still, shaking and strung out and absolutely drenched in his own bodily fluids; sweat, tears, snot, piss, and, worst of all, his own cum, forced out of him despite his lack of enjoyment. He is a teenager, and even dreams, memories, that make him sick like this, betray him. 

He stares at Sebastian like Sebastian is from his nightmares, and, in times like these, Sebastian almost wishes that he was. 

Human children can only deal with so much, he has learned, and Ciel is no different. He stays quiet as he lifts the earl, who is no more than a terrified, traumatized child right now, onto damp, unsteady feet. Right now, Ciel is not the Queen’s Watchdog; he is not a crime lord, who kills without question, without hesitation. No, right now, Ciel is a child who has been raped, and whose mind is plagued by body parts - hands, mouths,  _ everything - _ that never should have been where they were. He is a child who is suffering in ways most grown adults can’t handle. He is a small, malnourished, newly thirteen-year-old boy, so upset that he has sicked himself in nearly every possible way, so terrified of his own psyche that he can’t even see what’s directly in front of him.

Sebastian needs to get him into the tub, preferably a warm bath followed immediately by a cold one to quell the asthma and maybe lessen the severity of the fever already taking him over, going by the dizziness in his gaze and the redness spreading to his chest, but there is so much mess and he truly does not want to leave this child on his own in the water.

The back of Sebastian’s head hurts.

“No, no, no no no no-” Ciel wails, choking on his own snot. He fights against Sebastian weakly, and Sebastian knows that he isn’t taking in enough air to breathe properly. He sighs again, and carries the earl to the bathroom, ignoring the bites and sobs, the scratches and hits. Ciel, now more than ever, is no more threatening than an infant.

Sebastian supposes that he is, in some ways, much like an infant. He places Ciel carefully on the bathmat, and turns on the tap.

“Stay here, please, Young Master,” Sebastian commands gently, smoothing Ciel’s hair back. He shivers rather violently. His fever has gotten worse already, and Sebastian bites back a curse. 

“No, no no, please, please, no-”

This is becoming more worrisome by the minute. 

“I will be back in a moment. Please, do not move.” Sebastian sighs, and, after checking the temperature of the running water, rises. Ciel cowers, pressing himself as close as possible to the cool, solid marble of the tub, and Sebastian takes that as his cue to leave. He doubts the young earl even knows his own name.

Sebastian is before the servants quarters in an instant. He raps three times, sharp and loud and with purpose, against Mey-Rin’s door. She answers almost immediately, glasses off and gun in hand. Sebastian, were the situation not as such, would be proud of her swift reaction time.

“Mey-Rin, come with me, please,” he says, turning without waiting for an answer and starting down the hall. “You will not need your firearm.”

He hears her tuck the pistol into her nightshirt, and her footsteps follow after him. 

“What’s goin’ on?” She slides up to him, still on edge. Sebastian appreciates it. He grunts, and checks his pocket watch again.

“The Young Master has gotten sick,” he says, snapping the silver piece shut again. He puts it back in his jacket, and picks up the pace. He does not elaborate on the state of their master, and he does not need to. 

Mey-Rin is on his heels, half-jogging to keep up. He does not slow down. He leads her into the bedroom. It’s a disaster, and he sees Mey-Rin struggle not to cover her nose at the smell. He understands the sentiment. 

“I will have you sit with him while I clean the mess,” he says. She stays in the center of the room as Sebastian goes into the bathroom to make certain Mey-Rin will not see anything she shouldn’t. There are some things even the other servants need not be privy to, and she is well aware of this.

“Yessir,” Mey-Rin nods, following him dutifully into the bathroom when he eventually waves her in.

Ciel is right where he left him, and Sebastian switches the tap off. Ciel struggles against him when he undresses him, breathing heavy and quick, but Sebastian has him in the tub before he can do more than swat at him. 

“Sit with him,” he commands, and Mey-Rin drops to her knees beside the tub. “His attack was severe this evening. He is ill, and he does not know where he is.” He warns. His tendency to fight when cornered is left unmentioned, because Mey-Rin already knows. Sebastian does not take the time to say what is already understood.

Mey-Rin nods, and shifts into a more comfortable position. She does not touch the shivering child, and Sebastian, as he goes back into the bedroom, is grateful that he does not have to explain this aspect of life to her. She is well acquainted with it, and Sebastian knows that he can trust her, that the young master can trust her, to do what needs to be done. 

She may not know the details of what happened to her young employer, but she is not stupid. She knows what a broken child is, and she knows that children should not have such a deep apathy in their eyes, so much anger and grief. Children should not have to know the suffering of the world. Children should be afraid of the dark, not the light.

“Young Master?” Mey-Rin begins, low and quiet and soft, and Ciel, curled around his own knees and shaking, shaking, shaking, turns to the sound of her voice. It is abundantly clear that he does not know who she is, or where they are. She is, honestly, surprised that he is even aware that she had spoken to him. 

Ciel does not flinch away from her, and the trembling invading his bones is lessening in intensity the longer she sits there, still and unmoving. He makes a little noise in the back of his throat, close to the sound an infant would make, and Mey-Rin softens, offering him a warm, sweet smile. Ciel tries to smile back at her, weak and pitiful.

Children should not look like that, Mey-Rin thinks, horribly angry and irrevocably furious with things beyond her control. Children should  _ never  _ look so afraid of being alive. They should feel safe, and loved, and Mey-Rin, despite their difference in social status, wishes with so much urgent desperation that she could wrap the young master, half out of his mind with fever, up into softest, most comfortable things, and hold him there, tight and protected in her arms, until all the evil has gone away, and all the bad thoughts simply stop existing.

But, Mey-Rin cannot do that, would not even know where or how to start, so she resigns herself to leaning against the lip of the tub and making sure the sick child doesn’t fall asleep and drown, smiling at him with as much love as she can muster. She wants to cry, but she doesn’t; she will have time for that later.

She reaches a hand out, slow and careful so as not to frighten the earl, allowing him plenty of time to react, and very gently wipes the snot from his nose with her fingers. She rinses them in the bath water, and uses her wet hand to brush her fingers through sweat-damp bangs. Ciel leans into her touch, eyelids drooping, and Mey-Rin _ aches.  _ She gives him a wobbly smile, her vision blurry with something other than her farsightedness.

She doubts she will be able to go back to sleep tonight.

“You must stay awake, Young Master,” she coos, and Ciel blinks sleepily at her. He yawns largely, and rests his cheek back on his bony knees. Mey-Rin wants to feed him bread and meat and sweets, like he’d done to her, until he is plump, like a young man of his stature should be. 

“Stay awake,” she repeats, softer, but does nothing to enforce her words. She lets him fall asleep, fingers carding through his hair, watching him closely until Sebastian finally returns and dismisses her.

The young master will probably avoid her for the next few days, and will likely choke out an apology to her one evening when he finally feels able, and Mey-Rin will smile at him, soft and warm and much more motherly than she is allowed. 

She will say, “What for, Young Master?”, and the young master will flush, and thank her, and hastily take his leave, and Mey-Rin will hope, desperately, that Sebastian and, by extension, the young master, will trust her to take care of him again, should he need her. 

Things will go back to normal after a week, and that will be fine, because Mey-Rin has the honor of protecting him the only way she is able, and that is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> children deserve to be treated so much better than this
> 
> (I'm probably gonna end up writing one of these for Alois as well, because I'm weak and, like I said, children do not deserve to be treated so horribly)


End file.
